We had high hopes that Peter Getty would give our "nakedly hateful" rant against him the full rich boy-thrashing, but alas. And alack. We're greeted with only diplomacy!

Seriously; we knew it wasn't going to be a stroll through the park sharing our thoughts about growing up rich at any time, least of all during a recession. But we had to introduce ourselves somehow. What was the winning move? If we point out the things we might have in common, we're patronizing. If we point out the differences, we're rubbing people's faces in it. If we mention any difficulties that accompany wealth, we're self-pitying. If we simply ignore the subject, we're Marie Antoinette.

Just address it frankly in our first post, we figured, get it out of the way and go for a few laughs, so that's what we tried. We expected a little initial hostility, but we have to admit we were surprised to see it go international this fast. A guillotine has yet to be erected in Union Square, so maybe we didn't bomb as drastically as all that.

At least any uncertainties about a subject for our second post were removed quickly enough. Still, we don't want this to become a series of writings about the last thing we wrote, so we'll try to move on. Join us if you like.

So you want us to "join" you, do you? Here is what we require to agree to your armistice:

One gilt-laden vessel of Pharaoh's ashes from the tombs of Egypt.

A procession of seventy peacocks, linked with a golden chain.

Spoons of the finest silver; forks of the finest copper.

A baronial estate on the highest San Franciscan hill, surrounded by Bengal tigers trained by the holiest Indian shamans.

Babes.

If you consent to our terms, signal by having your manservant set the Transamerica Pyramid alight, that its smoke may permeate the crisp airs of the continent and waft to us here, on the Eastern shore, borne upon the sweet winds of liberty. If we do not receive your signal in the next fortnight, it's on and poppin.
[Pic via]